Supernova vRokuNami
by littlexsunshine
Summary: After all… how could you live again when your heart had been ripped out of your body? RokuNami version, slight SoraKairi


This is the RokuNami / Roxas x Namine version of my AkuRoku oneshot, Supernova.

Why did I make a RokuNami version of it? Because while I was writing Supernova, I accidentally hit the 'Print' button instead of the save button, but caught it quick enough to have only one page with a few paragraphs (the three years part) printed out. I carelessly left it on the desk, and somehow my mom ended up finding it and read it. She confronted me about it, and told me how it was 'really well written. So deep and meaningful, apart from the whole '_fucking_' part.' So we were talking about it, and I could tell she was seriously holding back from asking if she could read the whole thing because she knows I like to keep my writings to myself, so I offered to let her read it when I finished writing it just to be nice. Then, I realized OH CRAP it was an Akuroku fic. (Keep in mind, she has no clue I'm into yaoi or anything like that.) SO. I went back and changed it around so it was RokuNami and saved it to a different file. Truth be told, I can't really picture Roxas and Namine in any kind of romantic relationship. They're too similar. They seem like they'd be best friends or twins/brother&sister/brother&sister-like-relationship... They're still adorable, though. C:

* * *

It's been two months.

Two months since he woke up to silence, and walked outside to find the air was different than it had been before. The atmosphere… it had been light and shimmering, glowing with the golden sunlight shining from the heavens. The sunshine had gleamed against his dirty, messy blonde spikes, sparkling and glowing; his cerulean eyes radiating amazement and hope and astonishment, as opposed to the fear and brokenness and _dead_ look they had before. No heavy tension had stayed to linger above his head. Just the clear, crisp clouds, puffy and round and cottony, drifting away across the sky lazily yet contendedly, as though even they knew that things had just changed, that hope was not a distant memory or a kind of dream that you knew you had, even though you could not remember it once you woke up.

He had still been able to smell the shameless shame and the coppery blood and the cascaded tears and the stark death; hear the broken cries and the pitiful screams that called out to the wind in a mere whisper and the stinging shouts and cruelty that made his ears pound and ache. The screams that still reverberated with his every being, that he knew would be haunting him for a long, long, perpetually long time.

Then the men found them.

They had serious and determined faces, professional and observant and quick, but their eyes were not filled with the cruel desire to kill and torture- they had been filled with relief and hope and a heroic gleam that screamed to him plain and simple: things were going to be alright.

They had felt like zombies being brought back from the dead as they followed the sodiers out, their skin pale and sunken and their bones poking clearly out of their hollow, malnourished bodies, many left unclothed, some with shaven heads, all sympathetic to gaze at.

Had they become zombies? That awful, awful place had surely killed more souls than lives, tortured more spirits than destroyed them. And now, these walking dead, being brought back _into_ life…

Maybe.

And it had only been two months.

* * *

Roxas steadily climbed down the steps, bones still weak and aching, but better nonetheless than he had been not too long ago. In one hand was a chisel, the other hand pocketed in his old, worn out, and overused jacket.

He walked—sauntered, even—down the sidewalk, making a turn and continuing in his stride, rounding off of blocks and corners here and there for a good fifteen minutes until he reached a small spot on the edge of the town where a path lay, cutting into the dense forest. The blonde didn't hesitate or stop or change in the slightest, just continued down the path, knowing exactly when to duck and side-step to avoid getting hit by a low hanging branch.

Just walking on, chisel in hand and face blank, Roxas paid no attention to any of his surroundings until, after eons of walking along the winding path, stopping abruptly. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply, slowly, preparing himself.

Then he stepped through the slight, slight opening that had been standing at the end of the path in front of him, and he was in a vastly large meadow. Grass grew magnificently, reaching Roxas' knees, swaying softly in the breeze that blew gently around him. Wildflowers grew, grasshoppers flung from tall blade of grass to tall blade of grass, and the occasional butterfly passed overhead. It was quiet but not uncomfortably or eerily, just content and peaceful and relaxed.

Roxas liked it here. In fact, Roxas loved it here. It was one of the few places nowadays where he could be completely relaxed, in his sweetly simple silence, left to his thoughts, but where his mind didn't dare to invade thoughts with memories from… well, from two months ago, to say at the least.

Ever the walker, he strode through the field until he reached the spot where the wild daisies were growing, where the grass was not a foot tall, where it was flat and clear. In the middle of the mini clearing, a large, perfectly rounded rock lay soundlessly. Roxas smiled a sad, soft smile while he leaned down and positioned himself in front of it, chisel in hand, and pulling out a small but firm stone from his pocket.

He wordlessly began to chisel away, engraving words into the resting stone.

As he finished, long later, he heaved a heavy and almost broken sigh as he stood up, pocketing the rock in his coat and his chisel safely in his hand as it had been before. He turned around and walked out through the entrance to the forest, making his way back to the apartment he shaired with two other tenents: his twin brother, Sora, and Sora's long time lover and wife, Kairi.

* * *

It had been one year.

One year since he had woken up to silence, had walked outside to find the air was different than it had been before. The atmosphere that was light and shimmering, glowing with the golden sunlight shining from the heavens. The sunshine that had gleamed against his dirty, messy blonde spikes, sparkling and glowing; his cerulean eyes radiating amazement and hope and astonishment, as opposed to the fear and brokenness and _dead_ look they had before. No heavy tension had stayed to linger above his head. Just the clear, crisp clouds, puffy and round and cottony, drifting away across the sky lazily yet contendedly, as though even they knew that things had just changed, that hope was not a distant memory or a kind of dream that you knew you had, even though you could not remember it once you woke up.

Still able to smell the shameless shame and the coppery blood and the cascaded tears and the stark death; hear the broken cries and the pitiful screams that called out to the wind in a mere whisper and the stinging shouts and cruelty that made his ears pound and ache. The screams that still reverberated with his every being, that he knew would continue haunting him for a long, long, perpetually long time.

When the men had found them.

Who had serious and determined faces, professional and observant and quick, but their eyes were not filled with the cruel desire to kill and torture- they had been filled with relief and hope and a heroic gleam that screamed to him plain and simple: how things were going to be alright.

Feeling like zombies being brought back from the dead as they followed the sodiers out, their skin pale and sunken and their bones poking clearly out of their hollow, malnourished bodies, many left unclothed, some with shaven heads, all sympathetic to gaze at.

They might've become zombies in that place… That awful, awful place that had _surely_ killed more souls than lives, tortured more spirits than destroyed them. And now, these walking dead, being brought back _into_ life…

…Just maybe.

And it had only been one year.

* * *

A blonde man with thouroughly clean and lively blonde spikes that swirled upwards on his head, naturally defying gravity like they did, with light tan skin that was smooth to the look and touch, wearing laid back yet still nice clothes, swiftly plucked a loose rose from the bouquet in the simple glass vase that was settled on the dining room table. Glancing around once, he carefully stuffed the rose in his jacket against his chest, to make sure that nobody had witnessed the event. Lord knew that Kairi would kill him for it.

Speak of the devil, the auburn haired woman walked out of the kitchen and toward the blonde, smiling softly and asking him in her sweet voice, "Going out again?"

The blonde need not reply, but nodded softly and sadly, sighing and looking at the floor. Kairi bit her lip and averted her gaze, but stood next to him and put her arms around him in a gentle hug, which he returned after a moment of hesitation.

"I know it's been hard, Roxas… And," she paused, thinking for a few moments before speaking again, "and… I don't know what else to say."

Roxas shook his head, letting his arms drop as they both simutaniously pulled back, and replied, "It's fine, Kai. There's not much to say anyway."

Kairi gave him a sad, lopsided smile before pulling back completely, glancing toward the vase of roses for a moment before returning her gaze on the blonde with a grin, "And I won't yell at you for taking a rose… just this time." Her grin didn't leave her face even as she walked past him into the closest bedroom, where the soft wail of a small child had sounded.

Roxas remained where he was standing, lost to his thoughts, when he heard Kairi cry out to the house, "Sora!"

At once, the spikey brunette tumbled quickly out of the kitchen and made his way after the room where Kairi was, the young child crying loudly as the auburn haired woman tried to pacify it.

This broke Roxas out of his gaze and he remembered his initial train of thought, heading toward the door and opening it, stepping out into the chilly autumn air, and walking away from the small blue house, down the sidewalks, turning corners here and there, down the winding forest path and into the meadow, where he found himself kneeling in front of the now engraved stone on the patch of perfectly flat grass, and placing the lone rose in front of him. He leaned down and kissed the engraved stone before breaking into a story, letting his words be carried away by the soft breeze, talking of news and Sora and Kairi and their child, and his work and his home and just _life_ in general, while the rose rested on the stone and patiently listened as only a rose could to the words spoken by the blonde.

* * *

It's been three years.

Three years since he woke up to silence, and walked outside to find the air was different than it had been before. The atmosphere… that was light and shimmering, glowing with the golden sunlight shining from the heavens. The sunshine had gleamed against his dirty, messy blonde spikes, sparkling and glowing; his cerulean eyes radiating amazement and hope and astonishment, as opposed to the fear and brokenness and _dead_ look they had before. No heavy tension had stayed to linger above his head. Just the clear, crisp clouds, puffy and round and cottony, drifting away across the sky lazily yet contendedly, as though even they knew that things had just changed, that hope was not a distant memory or a kind of dream that you knew you had, even though you could not remember it once you woke up.

Still able to smell the shameless shame and the coppery blood and the cascaded tears and the stark death; hear the broken cries and the pitiful screams that called out to the wind in a mere whisper and the stinging shouts and cruelty that made his ears pound and ache. The screams that still reverberated with his every being, that were always haunting his dreams and that he knew would continue to haunt him for the rest of his life.

Three years since he had been found by the men.

Found by the men with serious and determined faces, professional and observant and quick, but their eyes were not filled with the cruel desire to kill and torture- they had been filled with relief and hope and a heroic gleam that screamed to him plain and simple: hope would not be lost, and things would be just fine.

They had felt like zombies being brought back from the dead as they followed the sodiers out, their skin pale and sunken and their bones poking clearly out of their hollow, malnourished bodies, many left unclothed, some with shaven heads, all sympathetic to gaze at.

Had they become zombies? That awful, awful place had surely killed more souls than lives, tortured more spirits than destroyed them. And now, these walking dead, being brought back _into_ life…

Quite, quite possibly.

_It's been three, whole, fucking years, _plus some months_._ And while all the others had been able to fake a smile and begin their new lives, Roxas was still just a zombie in a now living body.

After all… how could you live again when your heart had been ripped out of your body?

* * *

Our spikey haired blonde walked toward the door, picking up the large, filled bag that had been lying next to it, and carried it over his shoulder. As he was about to reach for the doorknob and walk out of the house—as he refuses to call it home—a small voice spoke up from behind him. It was Axel, the tall and almost horrendously thin—his parent's are wondering if it had anything to do with the conditions they were in before he was born—almost-three-year-old with flaming red hair that spiked out behind him, Sora and Kairi's son who was born just a few months after his parents and uncle Roxas had arrived at their first home, the apartment, in the same city, near where their current house was.

"Uncuroskie," he said in his three year old voice, still not good at speaking and pronouncing, "Whur you go awr du time?" He stared up at him with his wide jade-green eyes, and cocked his head to the side curiously.

'Uncuroskie' couldn't supress a faint smile from appearing on his lips—he had become close with Axel in his currently short exsistence. "I'm going to go visit a friend," he said to him, leaning over and ruffling his hair ever so slightly before turning to open up the door and exit.

Roxas walked down the sidewalk, turning around corners here and there, and proceding down the winding trail in the forest, until he reached the meadow and made his way to the stone that lay peacefully on a patch of short grass and flat, clear ground, engraved with words that had lasted since he had first chiseled them in.

"W-well…" he began shakily, "I'm back again, like always." He was kneeling down in front of the stone, staring sadly, hopelessly, _longingly_ at it. "And, ah… h-happy birthday." Without another word, he lay down on his back, staring at the sky, which was now beginning to turn orange, symbolizing that the sun was setting.

_"Roxas… just eat it yourself. It's your's anyway."_

Roxas had been coming to this meadow, to this engraved stone, ever since it was chiseled on that one day three years ago. He would always visit, regardless of the weather: on cold or snowing or raining days, he would only stay a few minutes before trekking back to the house; on warmer days, he would spend countless minutes, extending to hours, with the stone; and on summer days, such as this one, he would bring supplies and camp out with the stone, as he was doing now.

The blonde turned on his side, and shifted so he was facing the rock. His bangs fell in front of his eyes, obscuring his vision. This made him think better, and he turned so he was on his back once again.

_Warm fingers gently brushed the blonde spikes out of big cerulean eyes, smiling slightly when he found the gaze meeting his own; cerulean against azure, locking and filled with mutual love and adoration._

_Those warm fingers left the silky bangs and moved down to caress his cheek._

Roxas involuntarily shut his eyes and shuddered, a wave of hurt washing over him. Suddenly, it was as if the past three years worth of pent up emotion was erupting, and he felt tears begin to sting his eyes.

"Namine…" he whimpered softly, and that was when he snapped- the tears cascaded down his cheeks and he didn't fight the sobs that escaped loudly from his lips.

And… he cried. He cried and cried and cried, and then he cried some more. Three year's worth of tears made their way down Roxas' cheeks, and it seemed like they would never stop.

After hours of crying, the blonde lay there awake but unmoving, his eyes clenched tight and his heart beating achingly against his chest, tear stains dried saltily on his skin.

And then… he felt something. He felt something warm, even, gently brushing the bangs that were hanging in front of his eyes away. He could almost feel an electric shock, like fireworks erupting from the gentle skin the warmth passed over, and he was about to open his eyes when reality came crashing down on him again- of course it wasn't _her_. It was those stupid hallucinations again—the hallucinations he would get while laying in this spot that would make him hope and wonder if he would see his beautiful pale-blonde if he opened his eyes. And he always did open his eyes. Except tonight. Tonight, he had finally come to realize that no matter how much he hoped, his blonde, is beautiful, beautiful love; small and petite and gentle and fragile with shining locks of white blonde which framed her smooth, pale face and who had the deepest blue eyes, which only needed the slightest tint of violet blended in to recognize them as her's; _his Namine_; would not be there if he opened his eyes.

Roxas shook his head violently and clenched his eyes tighter ignoring the brushing, and, as he expected, it stopped in a moment. _It was just the breeze_, he told himself firmly.

Then, he heard something. His name. _Oh no, not again_. Yes, he heard it, a slow, gentle whisper, hardly audible, in _her_ voice, saying his name over and over again tantalizingly. _Why? Why must I go through this? _Along with the rustling of his bangs, hearing his name called out to him had also been a common occurance, and like his bangs, he had always fallen for his mind's dirty little trick on him and snapped open his eyes in hopes of seeing Namine lying right there next to him. But not tonight. Not tonight.

When the names stopped, Roxas thought, _The wind must really hate me today_.

And then it was quiet, peaceful, and nothing, no hallucinations, no wind, not a single thing disturbing him from his depressing thoughts.

Until he felt the slightest, almost unnoticable amount of pressure on his cheek, which sent sparks flying in every which way in his mind.

That… that was a rare one. It did happen sometimes, but not often.

Getting fed up, Roxas slammed his eyes open, ready to explode, and of course, there it was, the other hallucination, just as he expected—the spitting image of his petite, gentle, pale blonde lover lying next to him and gazing at him longingly. _Perfect_, he thought_. Just perfect_.

Filled with rage, Roxas yelled, "_Why_ the do you keep coming back to me?! Why?! I've had enough already! Just… just leave me alone! Just… leave me _alone_…"

Remarkably, tears brimmed Roxas' eyes once again and began to slide slowly down his cheeks—appearantly his body hadn't run out of water yet, which was a good thing, but at the rate Roxas seemed to be crying at that night, he wouldn't be surprised if he were to suddenly begin to shrivel up like a raisin. To try and supress himself and his actions, the blonde turned so he was lying on his stomach, face first into the ground.

But of course, the wind was just having too much fun watching poor little Roxas suffer, and soon he felt something lightly, gently gripping his shoulder, shaking it just a little bit, and then his name, "Roxas…" thrown into the wind softly.

With a sigh, Roxas turned his head and looked at the hallucination, glaring at it with both anger and depression. "I've really had enough hurt for one night, thanks," he said to the hallucination icily, then mumbled to himself, turning back to face the ground again, "…Maybe if I killed myself, the hallucinations would stop…"

And a moment later, he heard the voice whisper pleadingly, "Roxas… please don't kill yourself on me now…"

This… confused Roxas, to say at the least. He turned his head to stare directly at his 'hallucination' just as it's grip on his arm tightened a tad more than slightly, and soft lips were pressed to his forehead.

It wasn't a hallucination.

"Namine… You're alive…" Roxas' voice broke while he said this, but did he care? Not really. You wouldn't either if you were reunited with the only one who held your heart.

"I'm alive, Roxas," she replied, gently leaning her forehead against Roxas's. "I'm alive."


End file.
